


Correlation

by Vox (Meislovely)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Comfort, Dissociation, F/F, Slow Burn, basically them turning into a married couple before they even know they're in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meislovely/pseuds/Vox
Summary: “O’Deorain?”She blinked, taking her head out of her hands to fix blurry eyes on her co-worker, Dr. Ziegler. She hadn’t seen her sit down, but there she was, finger steepled and full cup of coffee in front of her. “Ziegler?”“I’ve been calling your name for a while. Are you doing okay?”There was a clear correlation between Angela's voice and the soft throbbing of Moira's heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a shameless comfort fic and spiraled wildly into a multi-chapter mess. Enjoy.

The cafeteria at lunch time was a realm more hellish than any Moira had seen before. The bodies packed together and frantic cooking in the kitchen made the room uncomfortably hot, and the dull roar of agents laughing and talking made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She didn’t want to be there. In fact, if it hadn’t been more than three days since she last ate an actual meal and hadn’t just woken up from an impromptu nap in her lab, she wouldn’t be there. Even now, the acidic taste of regret was stronger than the actual ‘food’.

She poked at it with a plastic fork, moving what could loosely be described as spaghetti around on her tray. She looked around, but no one else seemed to mind it, some -namely Reinhardt- going back for extra helpings.

She sighed and pushed the tray away from her, setting her head in her hands. The heat and noise weren’t doing her throbbing head any favors. Everything started to turn to static as her eyes unfocused. The clattering and clanking, mumbling and laughing and _yelling_ rattled around her head like buttons in an empty soup can.

“O’Deorain?”

She blinked, taking her head out of her hands to fix blurry eyes on her co-worker, Dr. Ziegler. She hadn’t seen her sit down, but there she was, finger steepled and full cup of coffee in front of her. “Ziegler?”

“I’ve been calling your name for a while. Are you doing okay?”

Moira frowned. Ziegler had this way about her. Keen eyes and ears, always looking out for someone to help. Someone to take care of. It was infuriating. It didn’t help that all the top agents flocked around her like some kind of cult, always talking close together in hushed voices. She wanted no part of it.

“I’m fine.” She muttered.

Ziegler didn’t look convinced, but didn’t push. A loud clang made Moira flinch, a sick feeling starting in her stomach. She looked down at her tray. There was no way she was going to get any food down, not like this.

Ziegler followed her gaze. “I’ve told the cooks over and over again that there’s no way this stuff can be healthy.” She sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. “They always tell me that I’m not the one in charge of the budget.”

Moira snorted weakly at that, spurring a grin from Ziegler.

“I have something in my quarters that might prove a bit less… disgusting.”

She perked at that, but reeled herself in and gave Ziegler a suspicious look. “What do you want in exchange?”

Her brows knit together for a moment. “I’m the doctor. Consider it a preventative measure. I don’t need to treat you for an aching stomach if you don’t eat that in the first place.”

It was Moira’s turn to be unconvinced. But she was so _hungry_. “Okay.”

A wide smile bloomed across Dr. Ziegler’s face and she got up. Moira blinked her burning eyes down at the tray in front of her, unsure what to do with it. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or thankful when Ziegler proved her eyes keen again, “I’ll take care of it.”

She picked it up and turned towards one of the larger, crowded tables. Moira stood, clutching the edge of the table as her vision spun for a moment. She recovered fast enough to catch Reinhardt’s booming laugh as Ziegler placed the tray in front of him and motioned for Moira to follow.

The walk to her quarters was quiet and slow. The doctor seemed to have set aside her usual clipped gait for a more casual pace. Moira was thankful for it. She felt particularly shaky today.

Her room was very different from her own. Where Moira’s was still mostly barren, even after half a year working for Overwatch, Ziegler’s looked like a small apartment. The walls were painted a soft blue and the small cot had been replaced with a king sized bed with messy yellow sheets. A bookcase in the corner held an assortment of textbooks and trophies from college contests and high school science fairs, making Moira wonder how long Ziegler had lived with Overwatch. A small fridge held up an even smaller microwave next to her sink and the soft smell of vanilla was a welcome relief to the thick smell of the cafeteria and sharp, antiseptic scent of the halls.

Moira stood by the door, fidgeting as Ziegler took something out of the fridge and tossed it in the microwave. She was never sure what to do when she was in someone else's space. She preferred to not _be_ in those situations

She felt a rush of relief when Ziegler motioned to a plush loveseat, “Make yourself at home. I did practically kidnap you from the cafeteria, the least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable.”

Moira sank into the soft cushions, not knowing how vehemently her muscles were complaining until they suddenly stopped. The quiet in here - only broken by the whir of the microwave and a ticking clock she couldn’t see - was a balm on her frayed, shaky nerves. Her tongue felt a lot looser now that she didn’t have to bite down on it. “Don’t worry yourself Dr. Ziegler, I came willingly enough.”

“Call me Angela. We’ve been colleagues long enough for you to call me by name.”

Any other time, Moira would’ve been annoyed at the familiarity. The most she could muster was a short sigh. “Then I suppose it’s appropriate if you do the same.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the wide smile that graced her face.

The microwave dinged and Angela was out of her chair before Moira could blink - then again, her blinks had been awfully sluggish all day. A tray, not unlike the ones in the cafeteria, was set in her lap. Unlike the cafeteria, the food on this tray made her mouth water at the mere sight of it.

It wasn’t much, just mashed potatoes and a slab of slightly overcooked steak, bit it was the best thing she’d had since she started working for Overwatch. It was only when she was finished that she realized she probably should’ve taken a bit more time, mostly due to the raised eyebrows she got from Angela.

“How long has it been since you ate something, Moira?”

Moira felt heat touch her cheeks, a combination of embarrassment and the novelty that was hearing her name. Nobody had called her that since college. “A while.” She huffed.

Angela surprised her by not launching into a lecture about her less than stellar eating habits like so many other doctors. She simply nodded. “Well, if you’re ever hungry for something other than cafeteria food, I tend to keep my fridge well stocked with _actual_ food, and I’m willing to share.”

“Be careful what you say, Angela. Before you know it I will have moved in and picked your fridge clean.” Moira said, a sleepy smirk pulling at her lips. She felt warm and sated, the buzzing in her head finally settling to a sluggish weight.

“I could use the company.” She said, shrugging and leaning back in her chair. “An inflated food bill seems like a low price.”

Moira wanted to tease, wanted to snap, to bite, to do _something_ , but her tongue felt like lead in her mouth and her eyelids much the same. Angela said something else, but Moira couldn’t quite hear it, couldn’t quite hear anything. Her mind finally went quiet.

 

When her eyes opened again, they were pointed at the ceiling. The sound of rhythmic typing reached her ears and her face suddenly felt hot. “What time is it?” She grunted, voice low and rasping with sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” Angela chuckled, “The sun just rose.”

Moira tried to do the math in her head, thoughts still sluggish and fuzzy. She’d gone to the cafeteria just after noon, she must’ve been asleep for a while. Overwatch hadn’t given her a set schedule, but she’d set her own and didn’t much like deviating from it.

She sat up in a hurry, fumbling to catch the blanket that fell from her shoulders before it could hit the floor.

The room was still dim, the only light coming from the screen of Angela’s laptop and the sparse morning sunlight slipping through the curtains. Angela was curled up in the same chair Moira last saw her in, though she swapped out her uniform for loose sweatpants and a tank top, hair mussed from sleep. Calm seemed to radiate from her, soothing Moira’s ruffled feathers with her sleepy nonchalance.

“You may want to take the day off.” Angela pointed out from behind her coffee mug, eyes still on her screen. “You’re fatigued. You need a break.”

Moira’s eyes narrowed, but Angela raised a hand to cut her off before she could snap something back. “I’m not saying your work isn’t important or that you can’t handle it. You haven’t taken a day off since you started here, you’ll be more productive after some rest.”

Moira settled once more. “You’d think twelve hours would be enough of a break.” She muttered, frowning.

Angela laughed quietly. “With how far ahead you are with your work, you’d be fine taking a week.” She got up to throw something in the microwave. Moira wondered if it was starting to have some sort of pavlovian effect on her - her stomach growled plaintively at the sound. Angela continued despite it, “Knowing you, you’d go crazy after a few days. So one should be enough.”

Moira wanted to grumble or argue, but it was useless to argue with someone who was right. Instead, she leaned back against the loveseat. Angela didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get her out, and she was no longer in a hurry to leave.

While she was initially annoyed by Angela constantly trying to take care of everyone -and even rebuffed a few attempts before- she had to admit that she felt a lot better. Her muscles were sore, but no longer screaming. Her eyes had stopped burning and her head had stopped throbbing. She made a note to herself not to make a habit of it. She was sure that if she hadn’t been starving, half asleep, and on the verge of a dissociative episode, she’d be back in her lab right now.

But, as another tray of food was placed in her lap, she couldn’t be bothered to care.


	2. Chapter 2

Angela swiped hair out of her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day as she shuffled down the hall to her room. She really needed to get a haircut soon, this was getting ridiculous.

When she turned the corner, she stopped in her tracks and stared at the figure hunched over in front of her door.

The first time had been puzzling, the second endearing, and now it was just part of Angela’s routine to pick up the gifts Moira left outside her door. A bottle of wine after they had a discussion about which wine paired better with which meal. A box of candy when she mentioned it being her favorite. A brand new CD from a musician she listened to often. Angela wasn’t sure if she was trying to pay her back for all the food, or if it was just Moira’s own brand of friendship, but it was nice.

It didn’t stop her from having to stifle a laugh at seeing the tall, regal woman crouched in front of her door like golem with the ring.

Angela stalked forward, leaning over to catch a peak at what Moira was leaving this time. She couldn’t quite see around the hunched shoulders, so decided to give up her stealth advantage.

“You know, you could just hand it to me.” Even as Moira jolted and lurched to her full height, Angela continued. “Better yet, you can just leave it in my room. Someone’s going to start taking the things you leave out here.”

A flattering hint of red touched her high cheekbones at being caught in the act, but she stayed as confident as ever. “You’re usually working when I come back, and it’d be a shame to interrupt the work you do.”

That was another thing Angela was getting used to. Moira’s slow change from distant and standoffish, to dropping not-so-subtle compliments. Then again, she doubted anything Moira did was subtle.

She reached over and opened the door, motioning for her to come inside. “It’s usually unlocked when I’m in my lab.” She shrugged at Moira’s raised brows, “I don’t usually keep any sensitive documents in here.” Angela omitted that she was often too tired to get her key in the lock when she came back.

She ambled in and collapsed onto her loveseat, letting out a long sigh. Moira closed the door behind her. It was always strange to see her in her room. She’d look around, as if entering for the first time every time, before finding a seat. Angela had started leaving the desk chair open for her when she noticed how scrunched the loveseat made her long legs.

Angela had begun noticing a lot of things about Moira lately.

She was used to treating soldiers that thought they were much tougher than they were and tight lipped about pain, watching them with hawk eyes to find the injuries they wouldn’t tell her about.

After finding her half dead in the cafeteria, Angela began to read Moira the same way. The flutter of her hands when she was happy, the faraway look in her eyes when there was too much light or sound around her. The way she snapped and growled like a cornered animal when she was hungry or tired. She realized more and more that Moira was an open book when you didn’t rely solely on her words.

So, Angela did what any good Overwatch doctor would and kept an eye on her -after all, it would be shame to have to resurrect someone when they weren’t even in the field. Seeking her out to tug at her coat and shoo her out of her lab if she was hungry. Sitting with her in the the cafeteria seemed to keep the faraway look from her eyes, especially if she touched her arm or hand, as if to keep her grounded. Convincing her to sit down when she was tired usually resulted in her taking a much needed nap.

Even though Moira grumbled and huffed about it -especially if it was interrupting her work- she would always relent to take care of herself.

“You look tired.” Moira pointed out, derailing her thoughts into her absolutely  _ awful  _ day.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Moira raised an eyebrow, motioning for her to go on.

Like a dam breaking, she found herself venting about her project, about the higher ups acting like they knew more about it than her and enforcing harsh deadlines, about the constant pressure she’d been under. She hardly noticed Moira moving about her room, eventually just closing her eyes and focusing on the small comments and sounds of agreement.

“Prodigy or not, I’m only one person. I have to sleep sometime.” She finished with a deep sigh, sinking further into the love seat. Her hair flopped into her face again and she gave an annoyed grunt, not even bothering to brush it away this time.

“They do seem to place impossible expectations on you.” Moira muttered. “I’d be willing to help, if you’d like.”

Angela’s eyes snapped open, “Are you sure? They can’t be much better to you.”

A tray was placed on her lap and a plastic fork pressed into her hand. She blinked down at the food presented to her and back at Moira as she retreated to her chair.

“It may not be my area of expertise, but I’m sure I could lend some kind of aid. Besides, I’m still ahead with my work. It would do me some good to work on something else for a while.”

Between the offer of help and the kind gesture, Angela was almost choked up. She was so tired, she had just planned on going to sleep and figuring out something to eat when she woke up. She blamed the exhaustion for the sudden onslaught of emotions.

“I… I would appreciate that, Moira.”

The way her hands fluttered and chest puffed out when she preened was endearing. “Grand. I’ll come by your lab tomorrow. Would you like to give me a briefing now or…” She looked Angela up and down, faltering. “Well, actually, I suppose you should rest first.”

Angela giggled around her mouthful of broccoli, swallowing before speaking. “I suppose I should. Thank you for stopping by.”

“It was my pleasure.” Moira assured, starting for the door. She stopped halfway there, turning and reaching into her pocket. “I forgot to give you these. I was going to just leave them outside but, well, you came.”

A small package of blue and yellow scrunchies was placed in her hand. Angela felt choked up all over again.

“I noticed your hair has been down a lot more than usual, and - I mean, it looks fine - I just figured it was annoying to have it in your face while you work.”

Angela ignored the way she tripped over her words. She knew Moira well enough to know that she meant no offense. “Moira, this is a blessing.”

Moira nodded, a self satisfied smile on her lips. “Good. I’ll let you rest.”

“Don’t forget to get some rest yourself.” She said, pushing down the sudden, irrational part that wanted to ask her to stay.


	3. Chapter 3

Moira had thought that working with Angela would be a refreshing sidetrack from the usual, but it turned out to be much, much more.

She was already starting to enjoy spending time with the doctor. Late night talks over coffee when they were both half mad with exhaustion and burnt out from work had become a habit that Moira enjoyed.

But  _ working _ together, it was pure genius.

She’d normally clash with the…  _ morally strict  _ woman, but she found that -when they got past that little hiccup- their thoughts flowed together with little competition. Alike enough to work together, but different enough to provide new perspectives and options. It was like two halves of the same brain forming something bigger, something  _ better _ . And it was intoxicating.

When Angela’s project was done, they saw no need to part. They simply moved. From Angela’s lab, to Moira’s lab, and back. From the cafeteria, to Angela’s room to debate over dinner.

Now, staring at the sticky note with ‘out today’ scrawled in Angela’s god awful handwriting, Moira was at a loss.

Thin fingers worried the long sleeve of her lab coat. She supposed she should go back to her lab, go to work. But what was the point? They obviously did their best work together, anything she did alone would make for a pale comparison.

Then she’d just have to find her.

Moira huffed at the inconvenience and started down the hall at a clipped pace. She may not know where Angela had gone, but she knew who did.

She wrapped her knuckles sharply against Commander Morrison's door, pushing it open when she heard permission from the other side.

He glanced up, blinking and setting his paperwork down to focus on her more intently. “What do you need?”

The change had been anything but subtle. The more time she spent with Angela, the more the others treated her differently. Their weary glances and resigned sighs left swiftly in favor of nods of acknowledgement when she passed in the halls, and -in Reinhardt’s case- smiles and bone shaking pats on the back in the mess hall.

Even now, Jack was acting off. The last time she stopped by his office, he’d been doing his paperwork the whole time, replying to her words with grunts and the occasional glance.  Now she had his full attention and curious eyes on her.

It made her skin crawl.

“Where is Dr. Ziegler assigned today?”

“She’s screening new recruits in the med-bay.”

Her eyebrows rose. That was usually assigned to the other med bay staff. Ziegler was most often called in for the tougher cases, nothing as simple as recruit screening. “Why?”

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “We’ve got a lot of new commands coming in. Very  _ important _ commands, all the way from the top. We’re going to have a lot more out in the field, and we need to make sure they’re all in top shape.”

“I see. Thank you.” She hummed, leaving him to his work.

The med bay was packed to the brim. Nurses half walked - half jogged every which way, deftly dodging the people waiting in line outside of one particular office. The sound of clattering and coughing and half a dozen conversations made Moira wrinkle her nose in discomfort.

Her entrance did not go unnoticed. Despite her sudden acceptance from the higher ranking members around the base, the trainees and medics had instantly fixed her with looks of confusion and discomfort. They paused and stutter stepped, like a gaggle of roombas met with an unexpected wall, and seemed to all take a collective step back to give her a wide berth.

She suddenly wondered if she hadn’t thought this plan out entirely. It felt like the most natural thing to do, but faced with this room of people, she was more aware than ever that -while she was a geneticist and field medic- she was far from a medical practitioner. Luckily, Overwatch never really cared about her poor bedside manner, especially since Commander Amari  _ shot  _ her patients.

Still, she straightened her shoulders and stepped over to Angela’s office, waiting for her patient to leave before entering. She was suddenly, acutely aware that she should have knocked, but Angela’s surprised smile soothed any nerves before they had the chance to fray.

“What are you doing here, Moira?” 

“The lab was awfully dull without anyone to argue with. I figured if I came to help, you’d be able to return to the lab a lot faster.” She only realized after she said it how much she sounded like a lost puppy, come to find it’s owner. She held back a grimace.

“Is that so.” She hummed, a knowing smile on her face that Moira pointedly ignored.

“It is.”

There was a mischievous look in her eye. “Alright, I’ve always wanted an assistant.”

Moira narrowed her eyes at that, at the thought of being anyone’s assistant after her lengthy internship at Oasis many years ago. But, there were worse things and it was only for a day. She simply took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves as Angela called in the next recruit.

Being an assistant turned out to be a rather nice break. Handing Angela tools let her mind recover from the bullet paced back and forth that had begun since they started working together. 

She was surprised with Angela’s patience, taking every single question from every single patient - and even a few from Moira - seriously and answering clearly and at length every time.

Though, halfway through, a man came in that would test both of their patience.

Mr. Sutter was short, but fit with shaggy brown hair and a swagger to his stride. Prime Overwatch material, Moira thought until he opened his mouth. He didn’t have questions as much as he had complaints. The lobby was too cold, the nurses were too loud, the exam room smelled too much like disinfectant, etcetera. Moira felt she was losing precious brain cells just listening to him.

When Angela explained his results, that he wouldn’t be able to join the field sector due to Von Willebrand’s disease and a history of heart problems, his whiny complaints turned to haughty arguments. 

Angela - and anyone else that thought she’d listen, but Angela was the nicest about it - had told her that she could be a bit… abrasive, so Moira tried to keep her mouth shut and let Angela do most of the arguing. That didn’t stop her hands from balling up into tight fists and her brow from furrowing with annoyance.

The arguing continued for what felt like forever, Angela patiently explaining over and over why they had to turn him away, and even suggesting that he apply for a different position at Overwatch. He would hear none of it, arguing back over and over that he should in an arrogant tone that made Moira want to grind her teeth.

“Sir, for last time, I’m telling you there is no way I can clear you to become a field agent.” She said, still sounding apologetic even after all of his arguing.

“And  _ I’m _ telling  _ you _ that I should be!” He growled, his face red with rage. Moira guessed that it couldn’t be good for his heart condition. “Where did you even get your medical license? You’re obviously not cut out to be a doctor, you’re too fucking  _ dull _ to know the difference-”

He didn’t get to finish. Things seemed to happen in slow motion to Moira. In her peripheral, she saw Angela - Angela ‘will shoot you for the last cup of coffee’ Ziegler - flinch at the word ‘dull’. Moira didn’t know why or what it was about the word that had gotten to her, but it didn’t matter in that moment. In that moment, Moira’s anger had risen from a simmer to a violently frothing vat of acid.

His words had been cut short because of the hands she’d fisted in his collar and the scowl on her face. She was used to using her height to her advantage, and this was no exception. She towered above him, seething hatred.

“Do you have the foggiest idea who you’re talking to?” She asked, voice a low growl. “This is perhaps the most brilliant, talented doctor of our time, and a small insignificant worm like you has the nerve, the  _ audacity _ to even utter the word ‘dull’ in her general direction? Over a petty little thing that you’ve had  _ many  _ other doctors inform you of?”

She held back the urge to slam him back into the wall. Barely.

His eyes bugged and he snarled weakly. “Get your hands off me, this is illegal!”

“I’ll show you illegal.” She snapped back. Oh, how she wished she could. Alas, that would break her nice track record of having consenting test subjects.

A gentle hand grasped her shoulder, and a bit of the rage drained out of her. “Moira, it’s alright.”

She looked back at Angela’s patient expression, scowl only becoming more prominent. Even now she was being lenient, understanding. The perfect picture of her namesake. She didn’t deserve some arse spitting insults at her.

But, if only for Angela’s sake, she relented. She didn’t miss the triumphant look on the man’s face when she released his collar. Likewise, she didn’t miss how pale he became when she called security to escort him out.

The rest of the recruits gave her frantic glances when they walked in for their own exams, assuring that everyone in the lobby had heard her as well. Shame burned it’s way across her cheeks and all the way to the tips of her ears. She kept her head down for the rest of the examinations, opting to keep silent and let Angela work.

It was only when the last recruit left the office that she approached Angela, clearing her throat.

“What is it?” she asked, glancing at her as she pulled off her latex gloves.

“I must apologize.” She muttered, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Everything she did, she did with purpose and reason. Apologizing was not her area of expertise. 

Angela’s eyebrows rose. “For what?”

“I… lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not the first time, and it’s not the last time.” Angela gave her a soft smile, “I’m sure you’ve noticed the strange phenomenon that happens with our agents?”

At Moira’s confused look, she continued.

“The fierce protectiveness. I suppose it’s from going through so much together - from the battlefield to cafeteria. We can all get a bit… irrational.” She giggled, “If you think you’re bad, Jack once punched someone for bumping into me at a bar. Started the biggest bar fight in Zurich to date.”

Moira didn’t know if she was more stunned at the implication of the old soldier acting so rashly, or amused at how it must have looked.

“It happens, Moira. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

That was far from the scolding she was expecting. Far from banning her from the med bay or asking her not to speak to her. Moira didn’t know if being so easily forgiven made it better or worse. She felt ashamed and conflicted at doing something so out of character. She didn’t like it. But, with Angela smiling at her and giving her arm a gentle pat, she felt… not  _ as _ bad.


	4. Chapter 4

Angela had to stop halfway up the creaking stairs of their run down safe house to let out a shuddering cough. Even though it had been nearly a day since the fire, her lungs still ached and her eyes were still red and tender from rubbing soot and ash out of them.

Their mission was a resounding failure. Their information was false, their agents unprepared, and Talon lying in wait with a spectacular ambush that had set the warehouse - where there was  _ supposed _ to be a bioweapon - up in flames.

The only saving grace was that most of them had escaped before the whole building collapsed. Even then, the word ‘most’ weighed heavily on Angela’s shoulders.

“Angela!” Reinhardt’s booming voice greeted her when she opened the door of his room.

She couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips, as tired as she was. “Wilhelm, we’re supposed to be lying low until extraction. Please keep your voice down.”

He’d been the driving force of the evacuation, dragging people out of the flaming wreckage to where she could get to them. Though it hadn’t come without it’s own injuries. Reinhardt was nearly mummified, comically large on the small bed that looked like it would collapse under him at any moment.

 Even trying to whisper, Angela was sure that his voice could be heard all the way in Paris. “Sorry Angela, it’s just good to see you again.”

“It’s been less than an hour since I checked on you.” She snorted, checking over his bandages. None had bled through and his burns were healing nicely. Her staff had been damaged in the fire, leaving her to tend to the agents the old fashioned way. Luckily, the old fashioned way meant she still had the nano-paste she’d insisted - demanded - every safehouse be stocked with.

“Yes, but it’s felt like days! I don’t like being cooped up, and  _ he _ -” He jabbed a finger towards Jack. The man sat stoically in the corner of the room, only raising an eyebrow at the accusing finger. “Refuses to even play a game of cards with an injured old man.”

“That’s because I told you not to move your arms.” She scolded, pushing the offending limb back to his side.

He pouted, but stayed silent when Jack gave him a look that screamed ‘I told you so’. She’d asked Jack to stay here with the express purpose of keeping Reinhardt from moving around too much. She had no doubt he’d be up wandering the house if left unsupervised. Angela was stressed enough without having to hunt down her patients.

“You’re healing well,” Her eyes narrowed at his hopeful look, “But you still need to keep still until extraction.”

She left to the sound of Reinhardt’s curses and Jack’s laughter. As much as it lifted her spirits to visit them, it didn’t do much to breath life into her tired body. 

So many were injured that they hardly had enough flat surfaces to hold them all. They were in almost every room. Even the basement had been turned into a makeshift hospital for those that suffered worse injuries than the others.

The small house they were holed up in had no power and no running water, smelled thickly of mold, and probably should’ve been condemned ten years ago. But it was the closest thing they had to a safehouse in France. At least it was away from the city.

“Angela.”

 Moira stood at the bottom of the stairs, propped against the counter of the little kitchenette. Her face was smudged with soot, clothes streaked with ash, as if she’d just come out of a black and white movie. Moira held out a half empty water bottle and Angela took it gratefully.

“Winston said he should be able to extract us in an hour or two, depending on how quickly he can sneak a transport through Talon security.” She jerked a thumb towards the com unit on the counter.

Angela let out a sigh of relief. They’d only been here for a day, but the safehouse wasn’t equipped for a team this big - or this injured. “Thank goodness.”

Moira nodded silently, sharp eyes looking Angela up and down before a small frown pulled at her lips. “Are you… okay?”

Angela opened her mouth to say she was fine, but faltered. As natural as it usually was, she found that she couldn’t. Not now; not to Moira.

Moira nodded again, the silence proving her right. “Come on.” She tugged at Angela’s sleeve.

“I still-”

“I’ve already checked on the rest of them.” Moira cut her off, pulling her into one of the more quiet rooms and closing the door behind them. There was a couch in the corner, a few agents sleeping leaned against each other as if they’d fallen asleep watching the broken television across from it. “I may not be a doctor, but I do have the mandatory medical training.”

Moira led her over to the unoccupied corner and sat down, long legs folding awkwardly before stretching out in front of her. At Angela’s raised eyebrow, she patted the spot on the floor next to her. “Sit. You’ve been on your feet for nearly 50 hours. You need rest.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue. If Moira had already checked on the others, there was nothing more to do but wait anyways. Angela sat down, leaning back against the wall. She hadn’t known how much her feet ached until she was off them. Running and jumping and standing for hours had taken its toll, but she still felt restless.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep like this.”

“That’s fine.” Moira hummed, her head leaned back against the wall and her eyes closed. “Even if you don’t sleep, you need to take a break.”

Angela frowned. She knew that - logically - Moira was right. But it didn’t stop the school of frightened fish swimming around in her stomach. It didn’t stop her legs from fidgeting or her hands from worrying at a scorch mark on her suit.

Moira opened an eye to glare at her when she bumped her leg for the fifth time, and Angela shot her an apologetic look.

“Angela. It’s okay. We’re out and we’re okay. We’re going to have to get up and get back to work soon, but right now  _ it’s over _ .”

Angela sagged a bit, letting out a sharp breath. She hadn’t known she needed the words until they cut the taught string holding her up. She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted to thank her, wanted to curse.

She settled for slumping over to lean against Moira’s side. She smelled thickly of smoke and ash, but under it all was the sharp and sterile scent that she carried with her everywhere. A lanky arm wrapped hesitantly around her shoulders and she let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t sleep, but it was the next best thing - sitting quietly in a dim room, listening to the thud of boots and hushed voices of their teammates in the other rooms.

She didn’t know how long they sat. It was only thanks to the quiet that she heard a low rumbling. Moira stiffened, the arm around her shoulders withdrawing as they both went deathly still.

The rumbling was quiet - but unmistakable.

She looked to Moira, voice low. “Did Winston say he was coming in a ground vehicle?”

“No.”

They shared a look before bursting into motion. Angela tore out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time while Moira ghosted around the ground floor.

Jack knew the second she opened the door, every line in his body going rigid. “Talon?”

They were isolated, far from the city. No one else had a reason to be anywhere near. “Yes.”

Reinhardt, bless his soul, stayed quiet. He simply slid out of bed with a wince and started fastening his armor with deft hands. Angela stalked back down to the living room, Jack following close after. All of the agents were quiet, no more hushed whispers or thudding boots. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Jack’s voice was low, but sounded like a shout in the eerie silence. “Two at every door and window. They’re not sure if we’re here yet, or they would’ve just bombed the place. But that doesn’t mean we have surprise on our side. Stay alert.”

With that, they scattered like leaves on the wind. Every agent in fighting condition posted up near every door and window on the ground floor like statues. Bodies were tense and faces set in stoic masks as they waited for all hell to break loose. 

Angela secured her spot in the kitchenette, behind the counter with her blaster drawn. It had a good view of the front of the house and enough cover to duck down. She caught Moira out of the corner of her eye, nearly concealed in the darkness of the basement doorway.

The rumbling had grown closer and closer until it finally cut off just a few yards away from the front door. The sound of heavy footsteps and shuffling body armor made her fingers tighten around the smooth, familiar grip of her blaster. She didn’t know how many were out there, but they were surrounding the house.

The crackle of the radio, deafening in the silence, had every gun in the room pointed at it for a split second. Before anyone could recover from the shock enough to turn it off, Winston’s deep voice blared from the speaker.

“Come in squad one.”

Doors burst open all of the house, an abrupt trigger that spurred shouts and gunshots on all sides of her. Angela held her ground, even as black and red uniforms clashed with blue and gold in a series of savage shots and skirmishes all over the house, the stench of gunpowder and metal overwhelming dust and mold in an instant.

“Squad one, prepare for extraction. ETA one minute.” She could barely hear it over the commotion. She snatched the comm off the counter, ducking down behind it before she could lose her head.

“Winston!” She hissed, “For the love of all that is good,  _ hurry up. _ ”

“Angela? What’s going on?”

She saw a flash of black and red armor at the end of the hall and shot before she had time to think. It was echoed by the gunshots of several other agents and they were on the ground before they had time to take two steps.

“Talon.”

“Can you evacuate south?”

She peaked cautiously over the counter. They had managed to push the few Talon operatives that breached back out, but the rest were doing their best to riddle the safehouse with bullet holes.“Jack!”

“I heard him.” He snapped, not looking up from the sights of his gun as he fired shot after shot out of a shattered window. “We can do it.”

She ducked back down, bringing the radio close, “We’ll be there.”

“Push south!” Jack bellowed. The agents scrambled to obey, some clearing the way and others watching their back.

Clanking started on the second floor and travelled down - as if someone had thrown a box of pots and pans down the stairs - until Reinhardt’s broad shoulders squeezed through the frame. She half wanted to scold him for getting involved in the fight when he was still injured, but they needed him.

He gave her a grin before letting out a wordless shout and charging out the door, his shield materializing to block an oncoming spray of bullets. 

“Be careful!” She hollered after him, exasperated.

She finally came out of cover, bolting for the rooms that housed the injured agents and telling them where to evacuate. When she’d gotten the last soldiers moving upstairs, a smile split her face. Outside of the window, Winston’s massive transport ship came into view. The turrets on top whined and spun before spitting a flurry of bullets that forced most of Talon to take cover. Reinhardt’s shield glowed, a blue beacon for the injured to follow as they lurched into the ship. 

A well of hope swelled in her chest. But as she watched, one of the injured staggered and went down to one knee. A rookie. She remembered the day she screened him to join. Before she could act, Jack was upon him - roughly hauling him to his feet and giving him a push towards the transport. As the rookie stumbled over to it under his watchful eye, Jack jerked back, knocked off his feet and sent to the ground with a dark pool of red spreading under his jacket.

She spat frantic curses under her breath. Not everyone had been evacuated, but she couldn’t let him  _ die _ . She took a few steps backwards before taking a running leap at the window. Glass shattered and bit into the exposed skin of her hands as she used them to protect her face. The wings of her suit snapped out in an instant, the sudden halt of momentum nearly knocking the air out of her lungs. The usual euphoria that came with gliding was all but gone, replaced by a dread that grew as quickly as the puddle of blood that Jack lay in.

Her feet tore up grass when she landed heavily next to him, brain already kicking into overdrive.  _ Get him to safety, stop the bleeding _ repeated over and over in her mind as she dragged him over to the transport.

Her laser focus was dragged from Jack’s wounds and ragged breathing as another set of hands gripped him. A glance showed her Moira, still covered in ash and soot but sporting a few more hints of red in her uniform.

They hauled him into the transport, a few on board already handing her bandages to pack the wound.

“There are still people in there.” She croaked, lungs screaming at too much activity and too little time to recover.

Moira frowned, staring at Angela’s face for a moment. Whatever she found must have been convincing, because she grimaced and glanced at Jack. “Keep him alive, I’ll take care of it.”

Angela had seen her fade, but never this close. It was startling to see pale skin melt into dark mist in an instant, coming back yards away as Moira sprinted into the house.

She wrenched her attention back to Jack. He was completely unconscious and still bleeding heavily. She turned her head, finding the rookie staring at him with all the color drained of his face. 

“Nanopaste.” She barked, startling him out of his trance and getting him moving. When he returned, she ripped the cap off and slathered some onto the wound before pressing the bandage down again. The paste and the pressure should stop the bleeding soon enough, but he was almost guaranteed to go into shock.

“Talon reinforcements incoming.” Winston shouted from the front of the ship.

Soldiers all over the ship began to prepare for lift off, but Angela’s blood ran cold. “We have to finish evacuating!”

“I can hold out for a while longer, but if I wait around  _ nobody _ is getting out of this.” His voice was strained, face set in a grim mask.

That was always how it was, wasn’t it? Needs of many outweigh the needs of few. She grit her teeth. “We can’t leave without them, Winston!”

Winston may have said something back, but it was drowned out by a deafening sound and the whole world turning white for a split second. The ship creaked and nearly toppled before Winston corrected it by lifting a few feet off the ground, then turned to shoot off without any delay. Angela paid that no mind. All of the fire and fight and panic drained out of her as the blood drained from her face, eyes pinned to the smoking remains of the safe house.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me as meislovely on tumblr if you want to commission me or just say Hi!


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